Exegesis of a Stormwing
by Harkly
Summary: A frusterated Stormwing confronts a familier boy... and the whole human race. Or, at least, the portion of the human race that reads this story ;-)


Come here. Stop blinking like a fool, boy, I know you can see me.

I have wings of metal that can carry me to the clouds, a world you only dream of.

I have claws that rip through that night sky you revere.

Yes, I am a Stormwing.

And I am angry.

You mortals know nothing of my people. Before the Immortals War, when we first came back to this world, our names were as a curse. You hated us. Feared us.

That's not what I'm here to complain about.

Daine spoke for us after the war. You didn't know that, did you? She understood _why_ we had to stay here. Smart girl, she knew we weren't harmless. She didn't think we would reform.

That's not why we are here.

We are here to make your lives hard.

I overhear trite observations from your people, mortal. "They're not much harm," and the like. They turn they're attention to Spidrens. They call _them_ monsters, now. Suddenly they are the ones to be feared.

Humans are ignorant, forgetful creatures. Daine was different, more People then the slow, sloppy species she resembled. She knew the one rule of the wild, the one humans think themselves above.

Everything must balance out. Everything must have prey.

And is prey, for that matter.

Spidren aren't evil. No, don't give me that stupefied look. No, don't open your mouth to tell me stories. They aren't evil; they're just spidrens. It's like saying that humans are evil.

Alright, so your friend saw one eat a kitten. I've seen humans do far worst to other humans.

Spidren aren't evil. They just don't see things the way you do.

So, on that thread, Stormwings aren't evil, are we?

But don't disillusion yourself, we're not good either.

We feed off fear. We also desecrate corpses from war, eat them, shit upon them. 

It's how we're made. 

Oh, I see that look! If those vacant green eyes were any larger you could cook pancakes in them.

There's a reason for it, you know. Not that it matters, because even if there wasn't there's nothing you could do about it. But, I'm sure you'll be happy to know.

We're myth killers.

You know the myths. You see them in your plays and read them in your books; All soldiers die bravely, true men keep silent through all the pain, men who dies in battle died well.

I'm upsetting you, aren't I? Good. You'll be a knight soon, no doubt. You should hear these things before you go into battle. Of course, I doubt you'll believe me. Small boys dislike having their dreams slandered. 

No, don't argue; you _are_ a small boy. You're 19, eh? I am 178 years old, give or take, don't talk to me about maturity. Humans are most mature at age 6; they only lose common sense from then on.

Anyway, Stormwings were created to stop those rumors, to discourage people from war. You could say a warrior who dies in battle died bravely with a noble look upon his features, but it's not quite as convincing when the remainder of the body is made up of some torn-up flesh smeared with Stormwing dung. 

Pretty picture, ain't it? That's you someday, squire. Giving back to the food chain. And it's about time you humans started doing so.

When we were locked away, you mortals began your myths again. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. 

Your kind doesn't learn, does it? We come back into your world, _our_ world, and you still fight your silly wars. Because now you have new myths.

Many of you seem to think we have turned over a new leaf.

Now, why is that? After all, we still feed off fear. We still befoul your dead. We still stink to high hell. 

I'll tell you why. Because it's been a while since your last war, it's been a while since you've seen us in action.

But the land is brewing. It won't be long. And then the world will see what Stormwings are here. What Stormwing can do, _must_ do.

Will do.

So when you do fight your war, look for me. I'll be there, waiting for you humans to kill each other off, so that I can reap the benefits.

But when you're wounded beyond repair. When you feel the air falling from your lungs and the light from you eyes. When you see me swooping down towards you…

Realize it's not because I'm good or bad.

It's because I'm me. A Stormwing.

Yes, run away, lad. Run as hard and as fast as you can. Try to run my words out of your head. Run back to your castle, with its high walls and gates, even they won't protect you from what I've said. Run back to your friends, too disturbed to tell them where you really were, what really happened. Make up some lie if you wish. Just run, boy, run quickly.

And do one more thing for me.

Remember my face.

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Author's note: Um… Don't own it, don't sure me. Much thanks.

My first Tamora Peirce piece, soon to be one of many, I hope. Gad, I haven't posted anything in a while, I hope you readers will tell me how I did! After all, if you don't tell me what you thought, how can I do better next time? 

If you have any questions, interactive comments, or just plain want to talk, my E-mail's [illah44@aol.com][1] Rah, Harkly can hyperlink! Or rather, her computer can. But rah anyway! ::silence:: Oh come on, rah with me people! (It's 1:14 in the morning, ok? Have mercy.)

   [1]: mailto:illah44@aol.com



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